


Do You Feel This Electricity?

by Calliopinot



Series: Do You Feel This Electricity? [2]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, BDSM!Skwistok, CRACK CRACK, Drabble Collection, Emotional Porn, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, NSFW, Post-Doomstar Requiem, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, bad crack, but also sfw, i can't believe that was a tag like, like ass crack, more like discussions of BDSM, more tags as the work progresses, partying around the world, take your gamble, that's right shared bed trope!, very emotional discussions of BDSM, very light bdsm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-25 10:20:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 15,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12529132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calliopinot/pseuds/Calliopinot
Summary: The part in between meet-cute and marriage, the ups and downs and silly antics of two metal guitarists as they navigate being in a relationship with each other.Also featuring sweet Skwistok stories unrelated to that continuity because...I can.





	1. Livable Hatred

He was in a contemplative mood.

Though he fancied himself a great postmodern philosopher, at least on occasion, in truth such contemplative moods struck him infrequently.

They were lounging on his expansive white bed, doing nothing in particular. There were better places in Mordhaus in which to do absolutely nothing, but alas, if they wanted freedom to be themselves, they needed to keep it behind closed doors.

At present, they lay perpendicular to each other, Toki’s head rising and falling along with Skwisgaar’s breath. Skwisgaar busied his hands in Toki’s hair, his guitar having been coopted by the Norwegian hours earlier.

As his fingers combed idly through long brown hair, Toki’s picked aimlessly at the guitar’s strings. Not practicing, surely. That would be silly. He just liked to hold something that was Skwisgaar’s.

“You ever t’inks ‘bout gettinks marries?”

Toki didn’t notice the subtle quickening in the rise and fall of his head.

“Oh ja! I t’inks ifs I meets de right goil I settles down, haves a whole mess of kids, maybe builds a house what ams likes a little Mordhaus someplace cools…”

Toki did notice when the rise and fall stopped altogether.

“Oh! Oh, you means marries yous?!” He rolled urgently onto his stomach, the Explorer sliding off and crashing to the floor.

Unplugged reverb interrupted the otherwise painfully awkward silence. Only after it stopped did Skwisgaar release the breath he’d been holding, his skin slowly turning back from the shade of a tomato’s flesh to that of your average Swedish demigod.

With a bemused smile, he stretched a hand to the floor behind him to retrieve his precious guitar and hand it back to his precious Toki.

Just like yesterday, he would opine some more tomorrow.


	2. Comes Backs To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toki suffers from night terrors. They've been getting better, though, since he's been sharing the white fur bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little violence in this one, and general Toki psychosis, in case either of those things bother you. But all's well that ends well!

Skwisgaar heard the wails pierce through his own dream before he felt the thrashing rattle the mattress beside him. It had taken some adjustment, sleeping with someone – actually sleeping – but he was fairly sure this was outside the realm of normal for a bedmate. 

Toki’s eyes were open but fixed on nothing Skwisgaar could see. He misread the sign as one that suggested it would take minimal effort to rouse him from this waking nightmare. In midair, hurtling up and back as the semiconscious form below launched into him, Skwisgaar realized his mistake.

His back hit the floor with a rib-cracking thud, Skwisgaar momentarily grateful he lined every surface of his room with plush animal pelts, but robbed of breath regardless. Wide, solid fists connected in rapid succession with cheeks and nose and lips, before nimble fingers unspooled and fixed themselves around his throat.

All he could hear, apart from the rush of blood thundering behind his temples, was an unintelligible mess of Norwegian spewing from the rhythm guitarist.

Skwisgaar didn’t know who Toki thought he was. It didn’t matter. He was Skwisgaar. Nobody else.

“Toki,” he breathed at last, gently touching the hands clasped around his windpipe. “Comes backs to me.” Soft fingers grazed up forearms, past locked elbows and bulging biceps, inching their way desperately to furrowed, sweaty brow. 

“Godsdammit… comes back to me…”

Awareness lit up Toki’s eyes before blackness encroached his own vision. But just as soon as they advanced, the pinpricks of unconsciousness receded, and Skwisgaar regarded the disheveled, horrified Norwegian appraisingly.

“I… I dids it again.” Toki’s breathing grew erratic as panicked eyes scanned split lips and bloody nose and his own raw knuckles…

“Deys ams gettings better.” Skwisgaar grasped dazedly at the Norwegian and pulled him in close, melting into the soft fur rug.

“I’ms dangertits Skwisgaar! You has to gets away froms me!” Toki protested, hot tears splashing wet against Skwisgaar’s bare chest and rendering feeble the effort to push away. But the Swede just tightened his grip. 

“Nej. I stays right here.” And he would. Even if it killed him.


	3. Objectivity For Being Bleak and Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skwisgaar continues along his philosophical bend.

“Hey Skwisgaar, we ams nihilist, right?”

“Ja.”

“Den not’ings matters?”

“Dat’s right, little Tokis. We ams borns into dis worlds justs to starts ours slow, brutals march ins-to de bleak, dark oblivions.”

“So if not’ing matters, den dis won’ts eidder.”

Toki grabs a startled Skwisgaar by the shoulders and pulls him in for a sloppy, sexy kiss.

 

Skwisgaar makes a mental note to feed his Nietzsche volumes to the yard wolves later.


	4. I Know What You Did Last Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anniversaries and birthdays and album release dates and countdowns to Metalocalypses he could be expected to forget. But this date should be burned into his consciousness for life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the closest to post-Doomstar angst I will get, because I still cannot handle that shit. And if I’ve learned anything from writing these characters, it’s that the best way to deal with emotions is to avoid them.
> 
> Chapter warning for suicidal thoughts/ideation.

Toki was restless. There was nothing especially remarkable about a restless Toki, except today his nervous energy had an edge to it Skwisgaar couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Hey Tokis… you wants we goes chase dems yard wolves around? I gots de new body suits from Nat’ans what ams mades of de _tuffloins_.”

“ _Nei_ …” Toki’s right foot wouldn’t stop twitching. The faint, rhythmic rubbing against Skwisgaar’s satin sheets filled the room with sound.

It was horrible, but it gave Skwisgaar an idea.

“Hey! I gots de new Advanced Fast Hands Finger Wizard Master Class I gots to tapes for in couples days. You wants watches de lessons and lets me knows whats you t’inks?”

Toki always liked being asked his opinion on guitar matters, whether or not it was ever taken to heart. Skwisgaar figured a little flattery might shake him out of this… it wasn’t a funk, but it wasn’t a mood the Swede was particularly adept at figuring out or handling, either.

Instead of lighting up with that pathetic mix of adoration and passable mediocrity, Toki turned his head to Skwisgaar, slowly, eyes narrowing as the rest of his body stilled.

“I has a better ideas! How bouts we goes to a Swiss bar! Maybe goes fucks some groupies, does some crystals meth.” The tone was his usual high-pitched singsong, but somehow savagely cutting.

Toki pounced on Skwisgaar, the look in his eye manic.

“What de…?”

“Ors we can go find Pickle, snorts some cokes wit’ dem olds comedy-hens! Or goes _shoots_ de yards wolves wit’ everyones!”

Skwisgaar couldn’t hold the terrifying depths of Toki’s gaze. Eyes darting away, searching for anything else to focus on, he noticed the Sexy Lead Guitarist of the Month calendar Toki had given him as a gag-but-not-really gift (January through December – they were all Skwisgaar). _Fuck_.

Anniversaries and birthdays and album release dates and countdowns to Metalocalypses he could be expected to forget. But one year to the day since they brought Toki home… that date should be burned into his consciousness for life. 

“Toki--”

“Let’s goes parties around de world, Skwisgaar!” Toki leapt off the bed, yanking his senior upright. “It ams fun, ja? I wouldn’ts know!”

“TOKI.”

Skwisgaar swept his legs off the side of the bed and grabbed Toki by the hips, pulling him in. The Norwegian let himself be manipulated, not knowing anymore whether he meant to fight or flail or just curl up and cry. So he settled for a halfhearted combination of the three, sobbing dryly as Skwisgaar pressed his face into his sternum.

He hoped by regulating his own breathing, Toki’s would follow suit. They stayed in that lopsided embrace for a good ten minutes, or until Skwisgaar was sure Toki wouldn’t act out again, before he pulled back and surveyed the young man.

He didn’t plan to apologize – there had been enough of that a year ago – but he did think there was something Toki deserved to know, and it seemed like now, finally, he could handle the truth. They both could. 

“I was going to kill myself,” he said, in Swedish. Toki’s eyes widened; Skwisgaar wasn’t sure if it was the language or the admission itself, so in spite of his own comfort, he continued in English.

“I t’oughts, if we didn’ts finds you, or if we ams too lates, or… wells, ja, I kills myself. Sos I gets real fucksed up on de crystals meth and de heroins and dem skanky disease sluts til’s I nots feel not’in no mores, so it won’ts hurts when I goes…” He placed two fingers against his temple and mimicked pulling the trigger.

“Weren’ts no party, nots for me.” Toki looked on in horror and understanding. His face softened at the grimace on Skwisgaar’s, and he pressed his body against the other man until they were lying on the bed once more.

“You did finds me.” He said it as much for Skwisgaar’s benefit as his own.

So he had, and would continue to have, periodic conniptions as he worked through the memories surrounding his captivity. It was okay. He was okay. They were all okay, his brothers, his stupid dumb fucked-up dysfunctional family (and one secret lover). Everything was going to be okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is a perhaps unpopular headcanon of mine that the Dethlights healed Toki physically and emotionally -- not fully, but significantly.


	5. We’re Going to the Amazon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not just crack. It’s crack crack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm too nervous to post the first chapter of this longer Toki-centric fic I’m working on, so here’s some awkward garbage that made me laugh because my writing reflects my soul.

“I wills sees you in Valhallska.”

“I’ve always hated you, Skwisgaar.”

“I knows, Toki. I knows.”

*** 

Skwisgaar had a bone to pick. Skwisgaar almost always had a bone to pick, but Toki could tell this one didn’t have to do with his scales and notes. So Toki opted to prune up in the hot tub with the other guys, well beyond Skwisgaar’s subtle “get out let’s fuck” announcement that he was going to bed.

Nathan could only answer so many questions about the best long-wear nail polish (the key is in the topcoat, he sagely advised) before it got a little too gay for his liking. So Nathan went to bed.

Murderface wanted to impart all the wisdom he’d gleaned as lead songwriter for Planet Piss. He really did. But that well wasn’t too deep, so rather than let himself be embarrassed by the fucking kid of all people, Murderface went to bed. 

Pickles enjoyed naming all the different kinds of bread with Toki. They even turned it into a race. Flatbread. Hard rolls. Challah. Brioche scored extra points. Pan which is just 'bread' in Spanish. Does bagels count as bread? Until Pickles realized he wasn’t nearly high enough for that shit, and then Pickles went to bed.

At last it was time for Toki to go to bed. Not his bed, of course.

 

“What takes you so longs, eh?” None of Skwisgaar’s earlier moodiness had abated, it seemed. To the contrary, now he was horny, too.

Toki’s little game of avoidance lasted only as long as it took for long Swedish arms to wrap around his torso.

“I t’oughts you was bein’s mad at mes for somet’ins so I stays hangs out wit’ de guys.” Toki was at his most adorable when his demeanor took on that of a shamed puppy. It was hard for Skwisgaar to resist peppering those blushed cheeks with kisses, so he didn’t.

But after a moment, he pulled away. He still had a bug up his butt, after all. 

“Whys you wont’s eats mine asshole?”

Toki froze. The only reasonable response to a question like that. 

“De socials medias say yous was de assholes eatings gennecration.”

Toki’s eyes widened in horror as Skwisgaar stepped back, dropping his pants and grabbing his ankles to put the goods on full display.

“I makes it easies for yous, I’s all cleans, evens uses the douche, like a godsdamn lady.” Skwisgaar waved his bony Swedish fanny in the air, reaching back to give his cheeks a revealing little tug to boot.

“It’s all hairy!” Toki didn’t mean to blurt it out. But subtlety never exactly existed in this conversation in the first place. And he wasn’t wrong. For a buttery smooth Scandinavian god, Skwisgaar had an awfully hairy butthole.

The poor guy’s asscheeks reddened first, naturally. Standing, slowly, Skwisgaar looked like he’d been hit in the gut with a tire iron.

“You can’ts just tends the front lawn, Skwisgaar. Nots if you wants me to dos dat.” Toki hoped a softer tone would soften the blow. Which it did, if only just.

“Okays, den whats you suggest we dos about it?”

“’We’? Dis sounds like a Skwisgaar problem ifs I’s evers heard one.”

Skwisgaar narrowed his eyes. “Den you gets no sexes unstil _we_ re-solves dis Skwisgaar problem.”

 

Needless to say, an appointment was made with the resident Mordhaus manscaper in short order. 

***

Toki had never ventured to this corner of his home before. He had no idea there was a veritable beauty salon tucked into one of these medieval towers. But he supposed if Nathan’s nails were going to stay their blackest and Pickles’ dreds their tightest, such an establishment was necessary. Why it took two whole days to find an opening on the waxer’s schedule, he decided not to inquire.

At least the Klokateer tasked with this particular duty was a chick.

“Ah, my lords. I see here I have an appointment for a couples Brazilian?”

Once more, Toki’s eyes widened in horror.

“Oh, dids I forgets to mentionings to yous?” Skwisgaar teased. “Wes ams bot’ gettins de waxings. I’s nots does it unless you does it too.”

Skwisgaar knew when he had the upper hand. Which is how two Scandinavian guitarists found themselves face down on paper-covered massage tables, fingers digging into each other’s palms.

“I wills sees you in Valhallska.”

“I’ve always hated you, Skwisgaar.”

“I knows, Toki. I knows.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY.


	6. Forest for the Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens after two Scandigayvian goofballs get their buttholes waxed? This! The direct sequel to "We're Going to the Amazon" (Ch. 5)

“Don’ts fuckins touch me.”

The trip to the salon had gone exactly as planned. As a result, two hairless Nordic nymphs now traipsed the halls of Mordhaus, asses afire. The point of the endeavor now completely lost on both men, they shut themselves off in their respective quarters, in search of remedies to relieve the raw, red skin that blazed below.

 

It was all Skwisgaar’s fault, of course. He of the hairy ass, who forced poor Toki to get that Manzilian against his will. Fortunately, Toki’s demanding facial hair regimen afforded him all manner of options for ways to soothe the butt burn.

Aftershave was definitely out of the question. The scented oils would probably sting at best and stain his clothes at worst. Toki landed at last on his trusty, versatile aloe vera gel. Cooling, comforting aloe vera gel, that would glue his ass cheeks together as it dried. Oh well, he thought. No one’s getting in there anytime soon anyway.

 

It was all Toki’s fault, of course. Dumb dildoes kid couldn’t handle a little body hair?! Man, as he existed in a state of nature, was beautiful, and Skwisgaar was the most beautiful of men. Toki should understand that. Dumb dildo.

Skwisgaar rifled through his extensive skincare arsenal in a rage. Although it had _almost_ been worth it watching Toki scream alone, his ass continued to burn, and he needed to find _something_ to put out the inferno. He grabbed a bottle of green gel that seemed innocuous enough. Green is cool and natural and healthy, and cool, natural, healthy things are good. Probably stinky too, but considering where it was going, that concern lasted about as long as it took for the cold goo to plop out onto his fingertips.

Without a second thought, Skwisgaar smeared the stuff all over his ass (and taint, and balls – shit, but that wax-a-teer was thorough). Tingling was surely a good sign, indication that the restorative powers of whatever he'd just haphazardly applied to his nether regions was getting down to business. Unholy stinging suggested he should perhaps have looked more carefully at the tube of – _expired –_ menthol flavored Savory Sensations lube before attempting to use it to quench a searing anal burn.

 

Howls from down the hall could mean only one thing. Toki smirked, then chuckled, then doubled over in laughter, rolling on the floor in schadenfreude.

 

***

 

Itching replaced the burning in due time. Short of sticking a hand down there and scratching stubby fingernails across the hypersensitive area in relative public, both men were reduced to subtle chair grinding whenever the urge grew too great to bear. Movements such as these were impossible to keep completely clandestine, of course. Your couchmate _will notice_ rhythmic rocking from down the other end, especially when there are no ladies present to account for the thrusty sort of motion. And while band rules expressly forbade inquiry given the… intimate nature of this particular behavior, the appalled looks they engendered were enough to force Toki and Skwisgaar to come up with alternative solutions.

As usual, Toki came up with the best one, first.

Skwisgaar happened upon his Norwegian bandmate – to whom he was still not speaking at the moment, thank you – in the hot tub later that night, wearing nothing but a stupid grin.

"What de fucks you does in dere? Jackins off in de hots tub ams nots alloweds!" So much for the cold shoulder.

"Ams not jackings off. Dildoes." Toki's closed-eyed bliss went uninterrupted by the Swede's rude intrusion. Rather than sacrifice valuable serenity with further explanation, Toki merely shifted a few inches to his left. Skwisgaar's eyes widened less at the unmerciful boner he spied below the water than at the angry jet of water and bubbles Toki's change in position revealed.

"Fuckings shit."

Toki chuckled and returned to his favored spot as the lead guitarist stripped his clothes, kicking a boot into the raging water in his fevered effort to get the damn thing off and his own ass onto a soothing stream of his own.

Letting out a sigh when he got the angle just right, Skwisgaar couldn't help but feel another itch crawl its way up his leg.

"Feels nice, ja?" Toki cooed, unaware or uncaring how completely fucking sexy he sounded.

"Ja… ams reals nice." He was glad Toki's eyes were closed, the better not to see the lecherous way he drooled over the firm pound of flesh the young man sported. Skwisgaar had been depriving himself of hot Scandinavian action for nearly a week – six months in Skwigelf years – and all out of spite. What was he thinking? How did he even make it this long? _HOW HAD HE NEVER PLAYED WITH WATER JETS BEFORE?!_

Now that the object of his desire sat before him on firm, glistening display, he would be a fool if he'd let it get away again.

Toki would be a fool if he didn't notice the dip in Skwisgaar's tone. His placid smile pursed in mischief, imperceptible to the horndog eyes that observed it.

"Wells, I leaves you in peace. I's startin's to gets all prunies anyways." Toki rose abruptly, dick splashing hot salt water directly into the face with which it was now level – and entirely too close. He made an innocent show of slicking the remaining droplets from his exposed torso and ringing the ends of his hair before turning, smooth ass mere inches from Skwisgaar's nose, to climb out of the tub.

"Sees ya later, pal!" And he disappeared from view, dripping and naked as the day he was born.

It took about as long for Skwisgaar to give chase as Toki expected, which is to say, just time enough to turn on the shower of his private bathroom and find a spot to lurk out of view.

From his perch in the water closet, obscured by the rising steam, he watched as a fuming, blindly horny Swede came crashing into the room, and stifled a laugh as his lascivious gaze locked on its – incorrect – target. Skwisgaar shed with difficulty the clingy jeans he'd half re-adorned in an adorable effort at modesty, then tiptoed into the shower.

But there was no Toki to be found.

Before he could backtrack, his spy gleefully pounced on him inside the marble expanse, pinning his chest to the wall with his own.

"Ams you gets lost, Skwisgaar?" Toki purred into his ear, voice barely audible over the rush of three showerheads. "De community shitters ams down de hall." He kneaded Skwisgaar's ass mercilessly, even as the taunts flew. He was just as hard up, after all.

"Mmmm… noes… I t'inks I finds de rights place."

All pretenses dropped when their shared need became apparent. Toki ground his erection into the frictionless crack of Skwisgaar's bare ass. But with all that had transpired since their last romp, he wasn't in the mood for a basic fuck.

"Here." Toki handed over a plain white bottle. "Don'ts worries, ament's mint or not'in." He smirked before stepping out of the shower. "Does a t'orough job. I be's waitins for you."

Skwisgaar eyes trailed after him before drifting down to the bottle in his hand. Popping the cap, the bland medical smell was only slightly reassuring. But then a bolt of electricity fired through his loins as he finally wised up.

 

It was all Toki could do to lie still on his bed. Still damp from a halfhearted toweling off and still salty from a brief spritz in the shower, he felt animalistic, thrumming with desire for the tall blond Swede who would join him shortly.

" _Fæn!_ " Toki sat on his hands as he felt his orgasm approaching, realizing only then that he had been feverishly rubbing himself to the image of Skwisgaar naked and wet, fingering his ass in the shower less than 20 feet away. What he had planned required concentration and stamina, and he couldn't let himself go so easily.

"Fuckins tease, you ams asleeps!?" Toki opened his eyes to regard Skwisgaar with a smirk. He would share the benefits of meditation on erection maintenance later.

"Comes here, idiot." Skwisgaar lay down on Toki's comically undersized bed and kissed him, tentatively at first. It had been odd, keeping their distance for so long. But Toki's fingers in his hair, Toki's breath a gentle sigh against his lips, Toki's tongue delicately tracing the tip of his own – it was like nothing had changed and nothing would ever be the same.

"Fucks me, Toki, _please_." Skwisgaar could only mumble his need into Toki's mouth; the Norwegian's hands remained busy at the back of his skull.

"Mmmm…" Toki loved it when the lead guitarist begged, his senior, his superior. And yet… "Nei."

"What? Why?"

"Because. I has ot'er plans." Toki sat the pair up. Only when Skwisgaar's hair failed to fall into its usual curtain around his face did he realize Toki had been braiding it. "Turns around."

Toki stood, reaching for his nightstand while the curious Swede turned to face the headboard. Toki secured the end of the braid with a hair tie before holding up a somewhat larger restraint in front of Skwisgaar's widening eyes.

"You remembers why we gets de waxings?" Skwisgaar nodded slowly, eyes still trained on the short length of climbing rope dangling from Toki's hands as the young man moved closer. "Well, tonight Toki ams gonna eats you up. But I wants to _ties_ you up first. Just de hands. Sos you can'ts touch yousself. I wants to make you comes alls. By. Myself." He punctuated those last three words with increasingly voracious nips to Skwisgaar's neck before trailing that enticing tongue from the dip of his throat, up over his pounding pulse and to just below his jaw.

"Ams dat alrights wit' you?" His voice, barely above a whisper, loaded with desire, breathed into Skwisgaar's ear. Skwisgaar nodded again.

Toki pulled back and looked him in the eyes. "I needs to hears you says it."

"Ja. Please. Yes. Ties me up. Holds me down. _Fuck_. Does whatevers you wants to me. _Holy shit Tokis_."

"Mmmm…" Still begging. "Good."

Toki shifted behind Skwisgaar, pressing his chest to his lover's back. Fear and anticipation rippled through the older man, so visceral Toki could feel it echo through his own core. He placed two steadying hands on Skwisgaar's trembling shoulders, sweeping firmly down his arms before closing them on his thin wrists.

"Ams you absolutesly shore? We don'ts haves to." Skwisgaar's breathing had become shallow and labored. He was rock hard.

"Godsdamnit," he gasped. "Fuckins does it you asshole befores I fuckins—" His threat was cut off by the teasing slide of smooth nylon up his thigh. Toki moved swiftly, wrapping the cord gently around his wrists twice before securing it in a nautical sort of knot. Skwisgaar marveled at the young man's skill and efficiency – where the hell had he been hiding this particular talent?

He wasn't able to gawk for long.

"One mores t'ing." Toki slid off the bed again, returning with a silk sleep mask and a coy smile on his face. Seriously, where the fuck did this guy come from and what did he do with Toki?

Skwisgaar allowed him to affix the mask over his eyes, jaw agape. Toki gently nudged it shut with a slender finger, placing a tender kiss on his lips before pressing his torso onto the mattress. Slipping a pillow under Skwisgaar's hips, he couldn't help but steal a grope; Skwisgaar jerked and swore loudly in response.

With his charge finally settled down, Toki's heart raced as he regarded the task before him. He was excited, sure, but painfully embarrassed, confronted with the reality of actually having to lick a butthole – and with the promise of doing so to orgasm, at that. Where even to begin? He skipped the ass eating parts in pornos (all the foreplay, let's be honest); he didn't even like watching cunnilingus, and lady parts were objectively nicer to look at than dude anuses, pubes or no.

Trailing the ends of his hair over the backs of Skwisgaar's thighs was an inadvertent good start. The Swede shivered, his sigh putting Toki at ease in turn. Gentle fingers followed the strands before abandoning the exploit to sweep them up and out of the way. Nothing ruins a meal worse than loose locks.

The sensory deprivation put every nerve in Skwisgaar's body on high alert. So it was with a jolt and an inhuman moan that he registered sharp pressure spreading him open and a flat, wet tongue sweeping up from taint to crack.

"Holy shits, Toki!"

The Norwegian chuckled. He had barely even begun, was just getting a taste for what was to come. And honestly, not bad. Skwisgaar kind of overdid it with that medicine-y soap, but better over than under. He pointed his tongue and swirled the tip around the rim, again and again before pressing in, to a delightful moan from somewhere above his head.

Toki lost himself for a moment, pushing his tongue deeper and deeper until his lips made contact with the surrounding flesh and halted its progress. Only then did he take stock of where it was and what it was doing, sliding in and out of the most forbidden part of his lover's body. The butterflies that attacked his stomach had as much to do with revulsion as sheer thrill at violating such a salacious taboo.

Fingers dug like talons into the bare flesh of Skwisgaar's ass; it wasn't until he registered a faint hiss of discomfort from the man that Toki realized how desperately he'd been holding on. Hiss turned contented sigh as he released his grip in favor of light kneading, turned lascivious moan as Toki began groping and tongue-fucking him with abandon.

"MmmmmmAAAHH TOKI!" The Norwegian added two fingers to the party, much to his senior's surprise and delight, thrusting them in a rhythm opposite his tongue.

But the action ground to a halt just as soon as it started.

"Wha… waits, why's you stop?" Skwisgaar struggled against his bound wrists to sit up, to no avail. Toki couldn't help but chuckle silently at the clumsy effort.

"Turns around and grabs you's ankles."

"Ooh, yes _sir_."

Toki couldn't help but flush at the unexpected address, however tongue-in-cheek. He'd definitely have to take his mate down the BDSM wormhole… later.

Skwisgaar situated himself according to orders, locking his feet between his bound forearms.

"Look, I dunnos hows much more'a dis I can's take, sos—"

To be fair, Toki wasn't sure how much more he could deliver. He figured from this angle he could _maybe_ arc his admittedly long tongue far enough to reach—

"EYAGH!"

Bingo.

The Norwegian smiled and dove his tongue in deeper, flicking against that spot, fighting through ache and exhaustion to give his mate the thing they'd both gone through so much to share. Within a few merciful seconds he had Skwisgaar twitching and moaning under his ministrations. For a brief moment he regretted hogtying him, wondering instead what the full six feet of thrashing would feel like from this vantage point.

But then the strangest sensation assailed his mouth. His tongue was being squeezed from all directions, so much that he couldn't move it. It took a second to realize what was happening, and when he did, he was absolutely transfixed. Skwisgaar, moaning, shouting, coming on his tongue in a way neither of them had ever experienced before.

 

When the spasms died down, Toki was able to regain control of his face, realizing for the first time how genuinely sore it was. He made short work of untangling the mass of Swedish limbs before helping himself to a cleansing cloth and some mouthwash from the stash behind his bed.

Through his entire postcoital routine, Skwisgaar hadn't said a word.

"Hey," Toki said softly, concerned. Ordinarily his senior was effusive with self-congratulatory affirmations and surprise at the quality of his bedmate's performance. "Yous ams okay?" 

The tumble of hair that had fallen loose from the braid had obscured the blindfold; Toki had forgotten all about it when he removed the other restraints. He began to boil with false rage. 

"Wake up, asshole!" Toki snatched the sleep mask off the eyes of the sublimely snoozing Swede. "Ams my turn!"

But Skwisgaar slept like the dead, especially after sex, and Toki knew it. 

It was going to be another long, frustrating night. At least he had the hot tub to keep him company. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly this was a challenge to myself to see if I could actually write the ass-eating scene and, I mean, it only took 3 months, so...?
> 
> Also I randomly decided the hot tub is salt water because fuck chlorine.


	7. Toki Ams Reds, Skwisgaar Ams Violets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentine's Day was days ago, but Toki doesn't care much for calendars.

_Roses are red_

_Violets are blue_

_I love Skwisgaar Skwigelf_

_Yes I do!_

Skwisgaar held the pink, glitter encrusted card out at arm's length, sneering at the thing like it might implode into a black hole of schmaltz and candy hearts at any moment.

"Wells?! What's you t'inks?"

"Uhh… I _t'inks_ Valenskines ams was two days ago, Tokis."

Toki bounced around the bed, demanding attention and jostling microscopic glitter loose and sending it flying all over Skwisgaar's pristine bedspread. _Whatever_ , Skwisgaar thought. Since Toki made him switch to faux fur – and since Toki spent more time in here anyway – he found himself far less anal about keeping the thing clean.

"I needed Pickle helps gets de words _just rights_. Takes time, you knows?"

Skwisgaar looked down at the poem, if it could so be called, and back up at his boyfriend. He could believe it.

"Violets amments evens blues! Deys ams porple!"

Toki was taken momentarily aback.

"Nei! In de _Willies Wonka_ , Violets, she eats de blueberries gum and she turns into a bluesberries, an' her's dad, he go, 'Violet, you's turnin's Violet, Violet!'"

So was Toki, at the moment.

Skwisgaar was hard put to argue with Toki about his favorite scene in his favorite movie. Still.

"Tells me. In you's box o' crayons **dat I gives to you fors last Jul** , what's colors ams de Violet, ah?"

Toki had That Look on his face. That look that meant he was about to break down in a disaster of tears. That look that meant Skwisgaar was rapidly encroaching upon Shitty Boyfriend territory.

"Toki?"

"Hmm."

"T'anks you. I loves it."

"Reallies? You's not jus' sayins dat?"

Skwisgaar set the card gently upon his nightstand, then placed two warm, glittery hands on Toki's trembling cheeks. He kissed them each, tenderly.

"Ja," he smiled. "I means it. Now goes locks de door. It ams time for your Valenskine's present."

 

 

 

 

"Wait, you was holdin' out ons Toki?! What's you been hidin'?"

Toki was halfway to the door. Skwisgaar was half hard and half undressed. He looked at Toki blankly.

"I means sex, dildoes."

"Oh! Ja, okay I likes dat present."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Randomly decided "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory" (1971) is Toki's favorite movie. Think about it.


	8. The Bed Arc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The place Toki seeks refuge from his nightmares is a warm bed and a warmer heart.
> 
>  
> 
> (that's the worst and also sappiest summary I've ever written end me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It started with drabble prompt fills on Tumblr and morphed into this continuity of schmaltz I can't stop writing.

**ACROSS THE THRESHOLD**

 

The knock on the door was late, and he was starting to get irritated. Not that he was particularly eager to receive non-female callers every night at 3am. His sympathy deserved to stay on schedule. 

At last three soft raps thudded through the heavy wooden door.

“Who’s ams dere?” He didn’t know why they played this game.

“Ams Toki. Cans I come in?”

“Ja. Comes in.”

Toki slid the door open but remained in the hallway. Even now, after all the nights he found himself there, he still flushed red with embarrassment, shuffling his feet as if unsure whether he was really, truly allowed to move them across the threshold.

Skwisgaar let out an amused sigh and held out his hand. Toki took the cue gratefully, sliding the door shut behind him as he moved toward the bed. It wasn’t until he was lying still, tucked under the silken sheets and fluffy white fur and Skwisgaar’s protective arm that he felt comfortable speaking.

**“I had a bad dream again.”  
**

“Ja, I figures.”

“I dreams you was in de dungeon dis time.”

Skwisgaar hated talking about That Thing. He was surprised how little Toki dreamed about it – that he would talk about, at any rate. His nightmares lately had been indecipherable miasmas of darkness and despair, which, to Skwisgaar, were much easier to deal with than That Thing. 

“Why ams dat bad? Woulds you nots wants me dere wit’ yous?”

“Nots like dat. I has to watch everyt’ing he does to you…”

Toki pressed his face into the Swede’s chest, as if trying to banish the images from his eyes.

“Shh. Dat ams not real, what you sees dere. Dis ams real.” Skwisgaar ran his fingers through long, brown hair, like he knew Toki liked. He scratched at the roots and hummed quietly, a solo he’d been thinking about for a couple of days. 

“I likes dat sounds.” Toki was almost asleep, probably wouldn’t remember in the morning, in case he changed his mind. What would it hurt? 

Skwisgaar placed a gentle kiss right where those cascades of brown hair parted, and closed his eyes.

“Ams your solo, littles Toki. Goes to sleep.”

 

* * *

 

**GIRL TALK**

 

It was an inviolate ritual. 

Once a week – it was all they could spare anymore, now that Abigail was their manager, now that both she and Toki had grown stronger physically and emotionally since Then – they sat together somewhere in the ‘haus and braided each other’s hair. 

Murderface made the mistake of making fun of this custom just once. Just once, and he learned.

Toki loved the texture of Abby’s hair. It was soft and springy and dense and always smelled like tropical flowers, even if she’d just run a marathon. His own mop felt like a stringy greaseball by comparison. 

But Abby loved the texture of Toki’s hair. It was pin-straight and thick as a phonebook. She would envy it, but she envied nothing.

They sat together, on the floor in her office, Toki’s back against her shins, as she worked her fingers through his long chocolate locks. He thought Viking braids would be in order, today.

“So you t’inks I just goes for it?”

“Yes, love. Besides, if he hasn’t figured it out by now anyway…do you really want a guy that fucking dumb?”

They broke down in laughter. It was so easy to laugh, now.

“Stop! Don’t move, I have to redo this one.”

“Okej, okej. I tells him tonites. I be’s in his room anyways.” 

More chuckles. It was so simple to be honest, with her.

It was so offensive, the knock on the door. 

“Uhh… hey.” A hangdog Nathan Explosion poked his head into the office. “Me and Pickles were just, uh…”

“Ken we be in the braid train tooooo???” 

“Pickles, shush!” Nathan returned his attention to the pair in the room, only to be met with a glower the likes of which he’d never seen.

**“This is girl talk, so leave.”**

“Yes ma’am.”

Toki swore he could hear the sound of a whip cracking – with a decidedly midwestern twang – as the door closed softly. 

They sat together, in silence, for a second.

“Sos… Hows ams  _dat_  goin?”

Abigail and Toki devolved into a complete and utter mess of giggles. It was so amazing, being themselves, with each other.

 

* * *

 

**GOES TO SLEEP**

 

The knock on the door was early, and he was mildly surprised. Toki didn’t go to bed until half past two on a good day. He couldn’t possibly be far enough into his sleep cycle for the nightmares to start. Unless they were really bad…

“Ams Toki. Can I come in?”

What about their dance?

“Uh… shore. Ja. Ja, come ins, Toki.”

The young man’s eagerness tonight threw him. He didn’t dally in the doorway or ask three times for permission. The coy shuffling was the same, though. That’s good.

Skwisgaar sighed placidly and lifted his arm. He waited for Toki to snuggle in tight and shift his gaze before he let the smile that threatened the corners of his mouth to break out. 

“Okey. Tells to Skwisgaar abouts you nightsmares.”

“Um…” Skwisgaar could feel the spot on his chest flare up from the heat radiating from Toki’s face. 

“I nots had de bad dream.”  _Just go for it_ , Abby said. “I loves you, Skwisgaar.”

“Ja, ja, Toki,” Skwisgaar yawned. “I loves you too.”

Toki sat up, as best as he could under the weight and muscle of his friend’s arm, and fixed him with a serious, flustered, seriously flustered pout.

“Seriously.”

“Uh huh. Seriously.” Skwisgaar cracked a sleepy eye at him and smiled, the real smile, not the patronizing grin or the condescending smirk. “Abouts whys you t'inks I lets you comes in my room ins middles of de night, and listens to you’s porsblems, ‘n gets all boo-hooies sad cries wit'chu? Huh? And gives to you all dem hugs to yous and sleeps wit’ you. Euughh.”

He poked the hushed Norwegian’s empty head, then kissed the spot. 

“I loves you, littles Toki. Goes to sleep.”

 

* * *

  

**HERE IN THE MORNING**

 

He had always been the best sleeper of the bunch, before The Troubles. Something about the last few weeks had restored that mantle.

But last night’s dream was decidedly beyond the pale of what he’d been experiencing, what had driven him to Skwisgaar’s room to seek solace and sympathy. Last night he hallucinated a version of himself bold enough to march into his friend and mentor’s room and declare his love, his romantic love, and Skwisgaar reciprocated, and then… daylight.

Now.

Staring at the back of Skwisgaar’s head as the Swede snored softly into the morning light, not remotely bothered by the company that shared his bed, not tossing or turning or finding a gentle excuse to kick him out like he’d done those first few days.

Toki couldn’t make sense of it. He slid quietly out of bed and padded quietly to the bathroom – Skwisgaar’s bathroom, where he figured some morning routine would help shake loose the cobwebs. But since when did Skwisgaar tolerate  _anyone_  sharing this sanctuary of personal care, let alone let them keep a goofy bear-shaped mug and toothbrush smack dab in the center of his gleaming white vanity? When did the garish value-sized bottles of Irish Spring and Head & Shoulders take up real estate beside Skwisgaar’s arsenal of delicate shower products with unpronounceable foreign names?

When did he fall in love?

Toki returned to bed more clear and more confused than ever. And Skwisgaar was waiting for him, one eye cracked along with his smile, one arm lifted in wordless invitation.

“You wakes up too early.”

“Does you mean it?”

Skwisgaar stretched both arms above his head and pointed his toes under the fur blanket, then grabbed at the air between him and Toki, like a toddler begging to be held.

“Ja, it’s like one-t'irties.”

Toki rolled his eyes and accepted the increasingly demanding request. He never really noticed just how comfortable Skwisgaar was. He’d always attributed the feeling to being someplace safe after the isolated terror of those nightmares. But his skin and muscle, the little piece of flaxen hair that curtained his own, the sound of his heart beating and lungs filling with air – it was like this man was constructed just for him, designed with a nook just for Toki Wartooth to occupy now and forever.

“Oh my god.”

“Whats?”

Toki snaked his arm across Skwisgaar’s midsection and squeezed.

“I’m just reallies… I’m glads you’s here. Dat’s all.”

“Is dats all?”

Toki sat up, as best as he could under the weight and muscle of his friend’s arm. Skwisgaar squinted a half-awake eye at him and smiled, the real smile, mixed decidedly with equal parts patronizing grin and condescending smirk.

“Wells, you know. I, uh.” Toki buried his face into the Swede’s chest. “I loves you.”

“Ahhh sorries, littles Toki. I couldn'ts hear yous. You has to speaks insto de microphone.”

Toki looked up again, face burning red, as Skwisgaar gleefully held a balled fist up to his mouth. “Now, whats was dat?”

“I says…” Toki took a deep breath, and opened his mouth, steadying himself for the proper delivery of what was to come. With all the fanfare necessary for such a momentous occasion, Toki Wartooth sunk his teeth into Skwisgaar’s thumb.

“AHHHHAHAHA you little bastard!” Skwisgaar tried to be angry, tried to roll the giggling Norwegian off of him in a huff, but he couldn’t. This was their dynamic. It always had been. It always would be.

When the laughter subsided, when Toki was sure there wouldn’t be any retaliation – at the moment, anyway – Skwisgaar placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“I loves you too, Tokis. And ja, I means dat. Dildoes.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really have a good place to put this on AO3, so it's here. This isn't in the same continuity as the rest of "Do You Feel This Electricity?" But it's a lot of sappy drabbles about Skwisgaar & Toki so. It's here.


	9. The Bed Arc II

 

**IN LIMBO**

 

He didn't know what to do with it, this thing he had before him.

It was ostensibly the same thing as always, the same person he'd known for nearly half his life. He looked the same, an ageless beauty whose stunning features only sharpened with time. He sounded the same, leveling sneers and insults in public, keeping close his counsel with hushed tones and native speech in private.

It was the same Skwisgaar Skwigelf, bane of his existence and raison d'être. Only it wasn't. There was an extra thing. Love, requited, not a thing Toki Wartooth had encountered in his life before.

He'd made his profession, accepted the reciprocation, all in a whirlwind of euphoria and disbelief. Coming down from the high of that night, and that morning, like so many before save for those confessions, he found himself an alien in a stranger's bed. A man whose love was a plague. A man whose love seemed impossible.

He hid from it, that thing, rather than confront it. It would disappear, maybe. Maybe it never existed at all. He did not knock on the door that night. He did not knock on the door the next night. He kept by himself after the nightmares returned; they were different, now, vivid and horrible and foreboding. But he sought no comfort. The thing consumed and confined him, pinned him to his bed and shunned interlopers.

Until a knock sounded on his door.

The man, the thing, had come to him. He supposed it would, if it were real. If it were real, his nightmares could be, too.

He recoiled when the man reached to touch him. A reflex borne from years of experience with things that he loved. He watched the man's heart break and thought, again, it could be real.

**_Am I scaring you?_ **

Words whispered in some Scandinavian tongue.

_You're scaring me._

_Please don't be afraid._

The thing grew heavy. It gained mass and volume. It was silken between his fingers, soft beneath his lips, warm and firm and alive beating against his chest. Memories of bad dreams were crushed under its weight. When he was without, he dreamed of a future without, of death and loss and emptiness. When he was with, he could only envision an eternity together, gods of heaven and hell, ruling over a scorched earth with only each other and this thing to guide them.

_I'm not afraid. Not anymore._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prompt fill if you can believe it:   
> doesthiscountasapornblog said:  
> i have many for your drabble prompts-22, 50, 72, 86, or 141? There are so many good ones??
> 
> Of these I picked #86 “Am I scaring you?” I may or may not do the rest too. 
> 
> ((A continuation of the Bed Arc, in case that wasn't clear, but AO3 won't change the Update date if I just add onto that chapter, evidently, so I guess we're gonna go with Roman Numerals until I figure out a better way to organize this.))


	10. Battlements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little drabble inspired by [this gorgeous (somewhat NSFW) art.](https://spys-art-blog.tumblr.com/post/173515485901)

Skwisgaar never made blanket forts when he was little. There was no one with whom he could play fortress and castle, no little brother he’d invariably trick into taking the role of damsel in distress, no parent willing to let her living room be turned asunder for the sake of a little boy’s imagination.

Toki didn’t even understand the concept. Pillows and blankets on the floor… and for what? The floor is where you slept as a child, not where you played or pretended. That could only happen deep underground, hidden from the eyes of God and father.

But Toki could let his mind drift now, with the warm body of his lover beneath him, the man who’d claimed his heart, whom he would battle dragons and demons to protect.

And sheathed under a curtain of long brown hair, the world outside barred from entry, Skwisgaar could imagine a fortress built of just these two, murmurs and whispers their arms, bodies and hearts intertwined their battlements. A fortress built of just these two, only for these two, and no one else.


	11. Tiptoe Through the Tulips

“STOP!”

Skwisgaar’s thumb had only been tapping the “skip” button for a second or two. Normally, Toki would become too entranced by the colors and abstract shapes of the album covers whizzing by to remember the task at hand, and they’d be at it for minutes on end before he remembered to press the proverbial buzzer.

But today he was anxious to get going.

“What’s is it?”

“Uuuhhh…heugh.”

“Skwisgaar, yous ams knows de rules. No cheatin’.”

When he devised this game six months ago, the ulterior motive was to “encourage" Toki (by means of wanton trickery) to engage in whatever debauchery the song title suggested.

“Let’s Put the ‘X’ in 'Sex’” was a pleasure all around.

“Sex and Candy” seemed a deliberate ploy, but Toki wasn’t complaining.

“Hit Me Baby One More Time” caused a knock-down, drag-out fight over the song’s proper title, which gave Skwisgaar precisely what he wanted in the end.

“Boys Keep Swinging” simply did not go over well.

But Toki’s bizarre music library slowly infected Skwisgaar’s with synth beats and general positivity. He needed to build a playlist specifically for this, goddamnit.

“Wells?”

“Fines. It ams 'Tiptoes t'ru de Tulips.’”

He rolled his eyes as Toki leapt off the bed with glee.

“Yay! Oh Skwisgaar dat sounds so rosemantics!”

“Ja ja ja. Goes get yous coat. I gets de plane ready.”


	12. Stranded, Reaching Out

Toki thought his hand would break under Skwisgaar’s death grip.

He’d set the phone on the bed, facedown, without a word, expressionless save for a slight tightening of his lips. And then he started to cry.

“Skwisgaar?”

The Swede didn’t answer, only pulled the hand he’d been grasping to his chest and held it there, wrapped it in his arms like an infant child that would die if he let go.

“Alskling, look at me.” Toki rested the palm of his free hand gently on Skwisgaar’s damp cheek. But still his love would not meet his gaze. Instead, he hit play.

Toki knew from the first chord. His preference was always the loud and obnoxious, the dubstep and the EDM. But tonight was Skwisgaar's playlist, and somehow this unplugged rendition had slipped in.

A simple pop song, elevated by a simple piano, it said everything he could not.

I'm alone. I'm afraid.

I need you.

Don't let me down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly reworked.
> 
> Also I have a headcanon that Toki calls Skwisgaar "alskling" and Skwisgaar calls Toki "elskling" because they are in love and cheesy and gross aghggggh


	13. Bird Set Free

The blaring alarm only added to the cacophony that announced their unwanted presence.

Nearly 500 birds cawed and squawked at the two interlopers, who themselves hooted and screeched their way through the aviary's main hall at top speed, as though dogs or guards or anything but a lazy whooping buzzer gave chase.

"There! Overs there!" Toki stopped short; Skwisgaar almost toppled over him. Getting loaded on gin and Becherovka before starting this escapade may not have been the best idea, but neither was this escapade.

"Okay, okay!" Skwisgaar unsheathed a gigantic pair of shears from the makeshift quiver where he'd been carrying them over his shoulder. "Yous shore 'bouts dis?"

"Skwisgaar! Ams de rules!"

"Ja, ja."

With an incriminatingly loud SNIP! Skwisgaar muscled his way through the first link of fence that stood between a pair of Lanner falcons and freedom.

"Holy shits! Dat's hard. Your turn."

Toki rolled his eyes as he took the shears from the panting Swede. With minimal effort, he cut through the rest of the chainlink fence. Skwisgaar wanted to be annoyed at how easy he made it look, but watching him work had a pacifying effect.

"You t'inks we tells Sias 'bout dis one?" Toki reached into the soft cooler that he carried, tossing chicken necks and viscera into the hole.

"Neh," Skwisgaar replied to the question and Toki's offer of a handful of gizzards. "I t'inks we gots gives her de 'prossibles daniaboltigry.'"

Toki looked at him blankly for a moment, before a new alarm cut through his efforts to parse that one out. He tossed more chicken bits closer to the falcons, hoping they would get the hint before he and Skwisgaar got caught.

"Dat's fucks up 'do dey eats bords. Hey look!" One falcon took the bait, inching closer to the hole and the mischievous Scandinavians beyond. The other soon followed; both eventually perched on the precipice of freedom, eyeballing a gleeful Toki and Skwisgaar warily.

Before he knew it, Toki had a falcon on each arm, eating chicken guts out of the palms of his hands. He couldn't believe it. They were heavier than he expected, and gentler too.

"Maybe we keeps dem…?"

"Toki…"

"I know."

Skwisgaar slowly placed his hands under Toki's forearms, palms up.

"One… two… t'ree!"

On cue, they thrust their arms to the sky, and the birds took flight. Skwisgaar and Toki stood in silence, or as close to silence as they could with alarms and protesting fowl carrying on all around, as they watched the raptors disappear into the night.

"Dey cans find de way back ifs dey don'ts like it out dere, right?"

Skwisgaar took Toki's hand, slimy chicken bits and all.

"Ja, Toki. Deys can always comes home."

Toki smiled up at him. 

"Now let's get de fucks outsa here!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not an endorsement of breaking into aviaries and freeing birds.


	14. Glory and Gore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This. Is. MORDHAAAUUUUUSSSS!!!

 

"Huehuehuehue."

"Whats?"

"Huehuehuehuehuehuehue."

"Skwisgaaaaaaaar?"

"Dis ams gonna bes – and I hates usin's dis words – buts dis ams gonnas be EPIC."

 

* * *

 

 

"No."

"Why de fucks nots?"

"Skwisgaar, I can't even—where to begin? You want to hold, for lack of a better term, gladiator tournaments in the back yard of Mordhaus? With Dethklok and Klokateers as participants?"

"Nej, nej, nej. Dese ams calls 'Det'games.' Dey's totesally differensk!"

Charles removed his glasses. He knew pinching the bridge of his nose would provide neither clarity nor relief to the migraine that had only been building in the 10 minutes since Skwisgaar Skwigelf had sat down across his desk and made his presentation.

The way Skwisgaar envisioned the Dethgames was simple and elegant, just like him. Each band member would be in charge of a team of Klokateers, which he would lead in ancient combat training. On the agreed upon date, the teams would battle each other to the death. Nothing like gladiator tournaments  _at all_.

Yet Charles was having none of it.

"We can't risk your lives, not to mention the pointless collateral damage to your employees, all for a game. Absolutely not."

Never one to accept "no" for an answer, Skwisgaar merely stretched his long limbs towards the bookish man opposite him.

"Looks, Mister Robot, we's gots to does it. Ams de rules of de game. So eidder we does it wiv you's blessings or, you know, we sneaks 'rounds, plays wiv swords and lions and dragons in de darks of night, maybes gets de gangsgrene, makes hankboiger time from prefectly treatsable wounds…"

"Okay. Okay. I'll draw up the necessary permits, draft some additional Pain Waivers." He shook his head at the mountain of extra work that was suddenly piled on his desk. "But can I please,  _please_ , do an executive edit of this shuffle game of yours so we can avoid these sorts of headaches in the future? The National Aviary was not happy about your last little, ah, adventure."

The Swede chuckled conspiratorially. "Ifs you wants. Buts most of de songs ams, eh, you knows, suggsevstives? 'Talks Dirtys To Me,' 'I Wants to Sex Yous Up,' 'Sucks My—"

"AH ha! I got it."

"—Kiss." Skwisgaar shrugged. "Anyways, de rules ams we gots to does de t'ing in two weeks, no draggin's de feets." This was not a rule; Skwisgaar just had a keen interest in seeing Toki clad in skimpy gladiator gear and splattered in someone else's blood as soon as possible.

Charles had the distinct feeling the room cooled 20 degrees upon their handshake agreement… 

 

* * *

 

"THIS IS SPARTA!"

"Dis ain'ts Sparta."

"THISCH ISH SCHPARTA!"

"Dis-"

"THIS. IS. SPARTAAAAAAAA!"

"Dis ams Mordhaus!" Skwisgaar was having a time wrangling three full-blown idiots and a Toki who was perfectly happy playing along instead of assisting in the organization. Charles's idea of supervision amounted to reviewing assorted paperwork atop a tennis referee's chair.

But lest he admit he'd bit off more than he could chew, Skwisgaar tried a different approach.

With a deep sigh, and a conniving grin, he stood between Toki on one side, and Pickles, Murderface, and Nathan on the other.

" _Dis_  ams Mordhaus." He indicated the pair of Scandinavians. "Dat over dere – dat ams Sparta. Ifs you wants."

The American bandmates were immediately affronted. All the "Hey waits!" and the "Euro ascholesh" were forestalled by a proud Swedish hand held up against the protests.

"Dat's Sparta and dis Mordhaus. And ifs yous wants Mordhaus, yous gots to trains dem guys over deres—" he indicated the itinerant horde of Klokateers who'd been assigned to this extracurricular activity— "and takes it."

That seemed to do the trick.

 

* * *

 

The Dethgames went exactly as planned, if the level of bloodshed was any indication. Charles had pooh-poohed the use of lions or tigers or armor-clad horses pulling chariots full of swords and flame-throwers, but Skwisgaar was satisfied with the caliber of gore nonetheless.

Murderface's repertoire of ancient battle strategies proved useful, as he dispatched  **Snakes 'n' Barbarians**  and  **TEAM CREPITUS**  with minimal effort. Team Skwigelf presented a bit more of a challenge. Skwisgaar had been more interested in lording over the entire affair than giving his team any sort of direction, so the  **Golden Gods of Light and Beauty, Shining Down Upon All Mortals and Their Virgin Wombs**  played a game of chaos, randomly attacking everyone at once, even Toki's team, with whom they were theoretically allied.

But  **MurderFracas**  ultimately prevailed, and squared off against the  **Sons of Winter and Stars**  in the final showdown. Toki was the only one of the five who insisted on leading his gladiators into battle, much to Charles's and Skwisgaar's shared chagrin. Truth be told, if there was anyone in the band who could be trusted to wield a battle axe and shield against a burly onslaught and hold his own, it was Toki Wartooth – to say nothing of Charles's surreptitious instructions to participating Klokateers to  _not under any circumstances maim or kill_  any Dethklok members.

At the tip of his solid gold chalice, the final battle commenced – exactly who had granted these ceremonial powers to Skwisgaar, no one could be sure, but everyone abided them nonetheless. Toki twirled his axe menacingly for a half second, relishing in the moment of calm before bedlam. Then, with an almost nonchalant flick of his wrist, the blade flew out of his hand and through the air, end over end, planting firmly in the forehead of the nearest opposing Klokateer.

"Don't kill them, Toki!"

Charles  _had_ considered allowing the event to take the place of more traditional Klokateer initiation activities, but figured gladiator Gears should at least be trained in hand-to-hand combat. And he didn't exactly want Gears trained in hand-to-hand combat, who he trusted engaging in the like so very near his precious boys, being killed left and right.

But his admonition fell on deaf ears as the crowd of spectators – the manager had quickly developed the Dethgames into a moneymaking venture – erupted, along with an unholy battle cry from somewhere deep within Toki Wartooth. Then all hell broke loose.

Skwisgaar could not deny he was equal parts aroused and horrified at the display. His sweet alskling, brimming with rage, moving deftly between genuinely defenseless conscripted Klokateers as he eliminated one after the other. The Sons of Winter and Stars took every cue from their leader, slashing and slicing more brutally than in previous rounds.

Murderface could do no more than shout encouragement and reprobation from the sidelines as assorted limbs of his team flung to the rafters. But it was for naught. Barely five minutes had passed before Toki stood victorious atop a pile of mangled corpses, doused in still-warm blood.

In the background, the crowd cheered. Offdensen declared Toki Wartooth and the Sons of Winter and Stars winners of the first – and only – Dethgames. Trumpets sounded and golden confetti launched from cannons surrounding the field of play. Toki had eyes for none of it.

Skwisgaar was his sole focus.

He was gonna get it, tonight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bonus points to anyone who can spot the obvious Archer reference


	15. By the Name of Odin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wanted to say 'Touch me, kiss me, fuck me, please,' but had neither ability nor need. These things had been communicated already through decades of song and understood, at last, by both parties, in these waning days of the earth.

It began as a game of cat and mouse. Playful call and response from opposite sides of the stage. It wasn't common, but when Skwisgaar was in a good or generous mood, he'd engage his fellow guitarist. He'd been in good and generous moods more often than not lately, since his fellow guitarist got home from That Place.

Skwisgaar used moments like these to hone his skills as much as lord them over the inferior Toki Wartooth. Benevolence couldn't completely dispel hardwired competitiveness, after all. Usually they'd end after a minute or two, the crowd cheering as whatever song they'd interrupted carried on to its traditional conclusion.

But tonight, it was their song. The one about murdering their god. Just a glance, a little smirk, during the stretch normally reserved for Skwisgaar's solo, and the game was afoot. They drifted toward each other, across that expanse of stage, as the sweeps and grinds picked up in momentum. Their singer bowed out, chugged a beer, grinned at his drummer who gleefully barreled along. Their bassist silenced his obvious objections, dutifully laying down the heavy tones to ground their floating riffs.

Skwisgaar's tune varied little from what he'd normally play. Four bars, then Toki would echo. Four more bars, another echo. He liked it. It was a fun deviation from what he otherwise considered work, these days.

A nod usually dismissed Toki to his side of the stage when playtime was over. But Toki didn't stop after his last four bars. He dug deep, dug in, threw back his hair as he threw down the notes, eyeballing his lead with unexpected ferocity.

Skwisgaar's brow raised ever so slightly. Toki was never one to issue a challenge, not in this arena. He responded in kind, pushing the envelope, curious whether his counterpart would be able to keep up, worried, in his way, what would happen when he inevitably choked.

Skwisgaar couldn't have known that the memory of the first time they played like this, together, battling each other and lifting each other, is all that kept Toki alive those months in the dank pit.

Toki couldn't have known that Skwisgaar's hope survived on that memory, too.

They played their hearts into tonight's game of cat and mouse. Everything ceased to exist but them, together. Toki's melody sprouted wings and soared to the heights of the stadium. Skwisgaar's grew hooves and thundered into the bodies and souls of the people gathered there.

When it was over, it wasn't. Not for them. They held each other's gaze, Skwisgaar astonished, Toki enraptured.

It was only when Skwisgaar broke the stare that he heard the crowd. The rest of the band had given up on finishing the song. This was the guitarists' moment. But it was only one guitarist's moment, really.

He leaned in close to Toki, breathed against his ear, the better he could be heard over the erupting audience. They're cheering for you.

Toki turned his head, at last. Toki. Toki. Toki. TOKI. TOKI. TOKI! _TOKI!_ _TOKI!_

A triumphant fist pumped into the air, and the cheers were deafening. He didn't choke. He didn't fail. He couldn't.

A glance over to Skwisgaar -- he bowed down, pick in hand, just a little, like some guys in a silly movie they'd watched together, before.

 

 

* * *

 

The band assembled on Toki's floor, as they were prone to do. Nobody minded trashing his space, himself included. Protocols had changed. No more boozing in public, no more unvetted sluts or backstage parties. They'd grumbled, at first, but they felt stronger when they were together, and safer anyway, especially in their own branded hotels, each of five penthouse floors lousy with armed Klokateers standing between them and those who would do them harm.

Pickles and Nathan and Murderface toasted to a successful show. There weren't too many, these days. A full tour was not in the cards, not with infrastructure crumbling between cities and anarchy reigning in the dark places. But their music was necessary now. It's all they knew to do, and the people needed to hear it as much as they needed to play it.

When the five of them gathered together after a show like tonight's, they could forget about such things as the end of days, drink themselves into a happy stupor, sleep away the night, when the brimstone in the sky was its reddest.

Toki was in a daze, after the solo. The duel. The duet.

Cavorting went on all around him, and he let it. Someone pressed a split of champagne into his hand, and he chugged it. A line of coke appeared on the glass before him, and he snorted it. None of it made a dent in the high he was already riding, exactly like but at once more beautiful and more brutal than that moment 20 years earlier.

He would have remained in that trance until the party wound down, until his friends stumbled off to bed one by one, had he not looked into those eyes. Similar stupefaction reflected back at him in deep blue, but with a distinct aura of awe.

There was no air in the room. He was sinking and flying and the look in those eyes was his lifeline. It shocked him in every way. _Electricity_. He felt it. It stopped his heart and started it back again.

This time, he knew the other man felt it too.

 

* * *

 

The bottles and the baggies emptied, the pain dulled enough for another dreamless night. Murderface, Nathan, Pickles, Skwisgaar said their goodnights and shuffled to the exit. Ever the gracious host, Toki saw them to the door. One, two, three went out. But not four.

Toki was on him before he even turned around. Hands, mouths, feet moving toward an inevitable destination. He wanted to say _Touch me, kiss me, fuck me, please_ , but had neither ability nor need. These things had been communicated already through decades of song and understood, at last, by both parties, in these waning days of the earth.

Clothes were shredded and discarded. Tiny pebbles of blood stood out against pale skin, born from the fervor. He hissed; he paused; he pressed his tongue to the cut and drew in the liquid reminder that he was real, he was there, they were both there, they were alive.

Every touch was amplified by the current that flowed between them. The scrape of stubble against the tender planes of throat and cheek. The knock of shaking knees against bony hips. The press of rigid flesh into willing depths. It grounded them and awakened them.

And they could see it, too. As though they floated outside of themselves, viewing the scene from on high, observing dispassionately the cataclysmic tangle of bodies below.

When it was over, it wasn't. Not for them. After the peak they descended the mountain, transformed. They wouldn't understand these things until later, until the brimstone in the sky began to fall to the earth and their music became an ancillary weapon to the axes and swords and scythes and plagues they took to battle. They would look back at that night and at last be able to interpret the tableau they witnessed from afar.

The two men coiled together in desperate need. The light and the darkness. The yin and the yang. The leader and the follower.

The gods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one out of the established-relationship continuity. Sorry I keep being confusing.


	16. Prinsesstårta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Precisely how dramatic is Sick Skwisgaar?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look a fic based on art! How novel!
> 
> I had a busy and exhausting week and sweet and wonderful people made art and ficlets to make me feel better. Find them all on my tumblr, bc writing html right now feels like punishment.

The text messages intensified in drama and despair throughout the evening, which, naturally, meant Toki's attention to them decreased exponentially in the same span. He finally put his phone on silent at text number 347; that he even waited that long irked present company, but he was never much for courtesy.

He waved off first one Klokateer, then two, then five all at once, beckoning him to follow them to where he was so urgently needed. This hot tub wasn't going to soak itself.

But then the Snaps started. Pathetic little videos of a sallow, sweaty, _suffering_ Skwisgaar Skwigelf inundated the streams of some 1.3 billion followers – including, of course, Toki Wartooth. They were his fond farewells, he said in them. Bidding his fans adieu, sayonara, adjö. Farvel. No hope. No hope.

Charles Offdensen's voice rang out on the heretofore unknown overhead PA system. "Toki, can you come here a minute, please."

Toki huffed. He could've just called. A peak under the bubbling surface, at the frozen dethphone screen, suggested that maybe he had, maybe seven times.

 

The manager, it turned out, only wanted to know why he was receiving calls from the label, Ms. Skwigelf, Mrs. Wartooth, heads of state, captains of industry, kings of New England, all inquiring about the impending death of Dethklok's lead guitarist.

Just why are you asking me? Toki feigned innocence like a dog with dental floss hanging out of its ass. Offdensen knew about their affair. How he'd possibly thought, for a second, it wouldn't add a whole extra layer of petty bullshit for him to deal with was beyond him. Hopeless optimism, perhaps.

Go deal with your…colleague, Toki.

Fine. FINE.

 

Toki was not overly surprised to find Skwisgaar's room shrouded in a mysterious shadow when he entered. Curtains, which had never before been an element of the Swede's spartan aesthetic, billowed in the cool night air that filtered into the room. His eyebrows raised at the aura of candlelight that flickered when he slid open the door. But he wouldn't begrudge the ailing Skwigelf.

Until he saw where that ailing Skwigelf lay.

The bed was gone. For a custom emperor bed that was constructed inside this room to just disappear was a feat Toki wasn't going to question, not yet. Because in its place sat a large round blood-red rug, trimmed with gold tassels, and atop that, a similarly appointed 17th-century baroque chaise longue. And atop that, a dramatically supine Swedish guitarist, dabbing at his hairline with a silk kerchief, moaning and mumbling delirious nonsense to whoever would listen—no one, for all anybody cared.

Toki would have laughed, were he not so supremely annoyed.

"Skwisgaar gets de fuck up."

"Toki? Toki ams dat you? Comes insto de light."

Skwisgaar draped a feeble arm across his forehead, flailing his delicate square of silk in the direction of his visitor.

Toki demurred, but moved closer, against the better judgment he'd been using all day. Previously weak hands shot out to seize his wrists, holding him in a figurative—but to half of the room, literal—death grip as bloodshot eyes searched his.

"Toki! _Min lilla Tokis…_ I don'ts means to alarm yous buts… I t'inks… I ams nots long fors dis woirld." And he collapsed back onto his fainting couch, gasping against the effort he'd just exerted.

"Skwisgaar—"

"Odin… grants me passage insto Vallhalska… and keeps me outs de clutches of Hel…"

"You amment's dying—"

"Sweets Toki… I knows you can'ts carries on my legacy when I's gone… you's guitar playing ams too dildoes… buts maybe leaves a lily on mine grave…"

Toki rolled his eyes, struggling against the Swede's deceptively strong grasp. For a sickly waif on death's door, he had an awful lot of fight in him.

"You's not dyin, yous dildo. You has de flu. And I don'ts wants to gets it too, so lets me go!"

"Peoples die froms flu alls de time!" Still, he relented, freeing Toki from his germy clutches in a sad little fit of coughs.

Pity was the very last thing he deserved. Toki had given it to him in spades over Week One of this particular illness. Now he was just milking it. Oh… but Sicksgaar was _so_ cute…

"You amment's gonsta die of de flu."

"Hankboigers time."

Toki fought the muscles in his face.

"Shouldn’ts I has gotten betters by now? Dis ams de end, my onlies friend, de end…"

He writhed in delirium on antique furniture. Toki had to admit, he did still seem to have a fever. And the respiratory symptoms—and hallucinations—were evident.

Fine. FINE.

"Hokay, Skwisgaar. Hows abouts I draws fors you a nice baf and gets you some ice cream?" Both things a Klokateer could have done, but, nonetheless.

"Bens and Jerry's Golden Guitar God?"

"Bens and Jerry's Golden Guitar God."

"And you gets in de bat' wif me?"

"Only if you lets me haves some of you's ice cream."

Skwisgaar paused in thought. Apparently this was a hard bargain. First-crop Madagascar vanilla bean and California cream blended with chunks of Swedish Prinsesstårta—it was limited-edition and only for the finest of tastes. But Toki was taking his shirt off, and nearly two viral weeks had left Skwisgaar with an itch he hadn't been able to scratch.

"Ja, okej."

Toki kissed his lover's clammy forehead before hoisting the sad sack into his arms.

"Aww, _lille_ Skwimples."

"Don’ts calls me dat. _Lilla_ …Tokis."

So pouty. So cute. So what if he was malingering. Toki would take care of him. Toki would always take care of him.


	17. Krumkake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I received an ask in my inbox, and all it said was "Toki sneezes?" There was no possible other way to interpret that. A little sequel to the previous chapter.

Toki carried his darling Princess Cake princess style into the grand marble bathroom and perched him, temporarily, on the bench in the shower stall. Six platinum knobs each pre-tuned to a specific temperature were turned, and the deep basin began to fill with imported Swedish mountain water. Only the best and most inconvenient for Skwisgaar Skwigelf.

As it filled, Toki busied himself with gathering the bathtime essentials – salts from every ocean and sea on the planet, extracts and oils of the wildest plants and herbs, Skwisgaar’s complete arsenal of cleansing products, and juuust a little bit of valium.

The moaning he’d been ignoring grew louder to compete with the half dozen faucets, until he had no choice to acknowledge it. Toki turned to see Sicksgaar slumped over in the shower, one arm out of the sleeve of his robe, exhausted and grumpy.

He couldn’t help but smile at the grabbing motion Skwisgaar made in his general direction as he approached, and at the boneless way he fell into Toki as he allowed himself to be stripped.

“Faker.”

“Ams not.”

Toki left their clothes in the shower–there was no such thing as a hamper in Mordhaus–and hoisted the gangly Swedish baby into his arms, murmuring sweet Nordic nothings into his tangled mop of hair as he stepped them down into the soothing water. Skwisgaar sunk down into his own corner, and neither spoke until after their ice cream was delivered and digested.

Toki continued to smirk at the closed-eyed bliss opposite him.

“I takes it yous ams feelins better?”

Rather than respond, Skwisgaar floated over to his little Norwegian nursemaid and wrapped his arms around his neck.

“Maybes.”

Toki slipped his hands around the Swede’s waist and nuzzled his big red nose.

“Wells, dats ams–”

HAAAACHOOO!

Skwisgaar gaped at Toki in horror, and phlegm.

Toki gaped at Skwisgaar in anger, and influenza.

But then he smiled, again. Payback was the best medicine.


	18. In Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skwisgaar enjoys pain. He never wondered why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nonexplicit BDSM in this one, discussions of pain and injury. Inspired in large part by my own personal issues and also [this gorgeous art over here.](https://spys-nsfw-blog.tumblr.com/post/173255482232/toki-really-loving-him-some-bruises-i-suppose)

Swedes possess an inborn respect for snow and ice, and a powerful equilibrium when respect is insufficient. Respect, to little Skwisgaar Skwigelf, existed only as a concept, not as a thing he'd ever experienced firsthand. At best it was a thing for him to bestow upon himself, along with standard youthful delusions of invincibility.

Little Skwisgaar Skwigelf, in his indoor shoes, at the age between ignorance and idiocy, decided one gray day that chasing the distant neighbor's dog home would be a fine way to pass a late winter's afternoon. The dog often came calling for companionship. Little Skwisgaar Skwigelf was more than happy to oblige. The grandmother was usually home around now anyway, and she usually had extra sweets lying around for good neighbor children. Little Skwisgaar Skwigelf was the best of neighbor children.

The dog was smart; if he wanted to outrun the boy, he would take the one-lane road that wound between their homes, rather than bound through the snow, however much more fun the circuitous route would be. Skwisgaar made it a quarter mile before the black ice caught him. He learned, then, about respect and invincibility, and again, in the frigid hours that followed, alone, crying, with nothing and no one but the howling dog keeping vigil. And once more after the dog's alarm raised the neighbors, and soon, his mother, and with her, a scolding and a spanking, layers upon layers of insult and injury to insult and injury. 

But as the spectacle and the bruises and the shame began to fade, so too did an undefined feeling. Every step he took on his broken ankle brought an inkling of it back.

 

* * *

 

Accessing locked memories was not an especially desirable aspect of subspace. He didn't go there too often to start, and he didn't make regular trips into the recesses of history when he did. Every time, though, it was something he'd rather not relive in the moment, something that deepened his subordination and subservience, his feelings of utter worthlessness and regret. Something that ensured plenty of moans and cries, none enjoyable. 

This time, that gray winter afternoon came back to him. The sharp pain and the humiliation, the pang of nostalgia when it all went away. When it all _got better._

He came before Toki got anywhere near the stimulation stage. They were well into whatever game of punishment and denial the young sadist had cooked up for the evening. Screams and foreplay. Something designed to break capillaries under the skin for Toki to worship again and again until the palette cleansed and it was time to play again.

 

Little Skwisgaar Skwigelf had not understood why he missed the pain and the attention. Both were markedly unpleasant. Both were considerably better than the emptiness and loneliness he experienced in their absence.

 

The sound Toki heard was that of a broken man, the sound of self-awareness crashing into the Swede with every blow that landed on that great expanse of unblemished flesh. The sound Skwisgaar made was that of a confused boy, crying out for something on an icy one-lane road that he wouldn't get until decades later.

"Skwisgaar? Alske!?"

Toki realised his arm was still aloft, frozen mid-swing, and let the blunt flogger clatter to the floor behind him. He'd only encountered this situation in theory. It was one of those "Watch out fors" that Charles had warned him about, his partner falling so deep into their psyche that normal stimuli couldn't reach them.

As aggressive and relentless as he could be when the game was afoot, Toki was an exceptional caregiver. He had the restraints undone and Skwisgaar reclined into a neutral position in seconds, whispering words of calm in dulcet tones for nearly an hour until the spasming and sobbing subsided.

"Ams warm."

"Mmhmm."

"Was cold."

"Hmm." 

Skwisgaar paused between fractured sentences, as though each thought came to him wholly anew. The gentle vibrations of Toki's nonsensical murmurs guided him down the icy lane of memory to the warmth and comfort of the arms that held him. He loved the pain, because he loved _him_. 

And as the bruises bloomed beneath his skin he made the connection. They were loved, because he was loved.


	19. Switch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toki gets curious. Is the grass really greener on the other side of the flog?

Once their body temperatures normalized, and their breathing regulated, and they could be reasonably considered "themselves" again, Toki chanced to speak.

"I tinks...I mean...I know...I's readies to tries it your way."

Skwisgaar shifted. Too long in any one position irritated the already sore spots Toki's heavy hand had worked over.

"What?" He was himself, but groggy nonetheless. "My way? Fors what? Yous gonna practice guitar?"

Toki smiled, sheepish, and squirmed, nervous. "I means...Switching t'ings up. I be's you. You be me. Here."

Skwisgaar caught his eye. Caught the hopeful inkling of submission in his eye.

"Nej." He sat bolt upright, painful welts be damned, and shook his head adamantly against Toki's pleading gaze. "No. Absoslutely not."

"I studies what's you does! I practice evens!" He left out the part about the first few study buddies departing his chamber in traction. Toki's learning curve between dominance and submission was sharp and deadly.

"I learns to does it right. I learns...to controls my anger." The last was as much confession as admission. Toki's anger issues were obvious to everyone but Toki. Even Skwisgaar knew engaging this particular kink with him was taking on unnecessary risk -- but that just added to the thrill.

Now, though, he was having none of it.

"I's not hearing dis. It ams outs of de questions."

He rose from the bed and began to re-dress, leaving an embarrassed, rejected Toki behind.

"Wait!"

"Toki!" He was beet red, fighting back tears and a trembling lower lip. _"You can't ask me to hurt you! I can't hurt you!"_

The fight was lost. He fell to his knees before his stunned young lover, as if begging him to understand, hoping his Swedish was clear.

Toki took in the raised red marks spread across the heaving shoulders of the man who clutched at his knees. Beneath them, a canvas of deep purple and faded blue circles, sickly yellow in places and pockmarked in others. Toki put them there, all of them, and he loved them, all of them. Skwisgaar had asked him to, and kept asking him to. He enjoyed it. They both did. That's why Toki wanted to try this game from his perspective. But they hurt. Pressing his thumb into a fresh one confirmed as much. This perspective Toki hadn't considered.

"Shit."

Skwisgaar rocked back on his heels, cleared his throat, attempted to wipe the tears and embarrassment from his face as subtly as possible. For as common as they were between the two, gushy displays of emotion still left them both feeling slightly ill and extremely awkward.

"Skwisgaar."

"Ehugh."

Toki held his hands out toward the giant dry-sobbing mass of Swede, grasping the air between them with increasing insistence the longer Skwisgaar demurred. Eventually the big blond baby crawled into Toki's arms, where he had always and would always have a home.

"Skwisgaar."

"EUUUGH?"

"I's sorry."

"Ja. Me's too. I, uh. Coulds has explains my position maybes a littles better?"

Toki chuckled. Skwisgaar glared.

"Nots dat. I's sorries I ever thought you could be a dom. You big cries baby."

Toki chuckled. Skwisgaar glared.

"I shows you a fuckins dom you fuckins asshole!"

 

Pillows were not standard BDSM toys by any stretch of the imagination, but they _were_ useful to prove a point to a smartass switch-in-training. Submission, as Toki would learn, was relative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A spiritual cousin to "In Bloom," not an immediate sequel. Which is to say, I started this one first and then wrote in two different directions and wound up with semi-related stories in my BDSM!Skwistok-verse, which, let's be real, is a big universe.


	20. Two Things to Do in a Blizzard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toki's plans for a Scandinavian Friender Bender go awry in a blizzard, leaving two guitarists with one bed, no heat, and a bottle of Rumple Minze. Whatever shall they do??????

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another one outside of the Skwistok relationship established in Part 1, but it's still Skwistok and it's still sweet as Toki Candy so. It goes here.

Toki’s grand plan for a Scandinavian Friender Bender was off to about as good a start as could be expected. How he thought Iceland in January would be anything but a land of ice was anyone’s guess.

Anyone but Skwisgaar Skwigelf, who went along with the agenda without complaint - until it was time to complain.

“Toki, dis ams dildoes!”

“What?”

“I say dis ams DILDOES!”

Toki turned to face him. Communication in a blinding snowstorm had been difficult to say the least. But they needed to forge on - on foot, no less - if they hoped to make their dogsledding appointment. Griping aside, Skwisgaar very much hoped to make their dogsledding appointment.

“Onlies one kilometers to go, you can makes it!”

Skwisgaar looked like he was going to vomit at that news. Half of the party had far more experience trudging through snow in miserable conditions. Half of the party considered one kilometer walking distance in  _normal_  conditions.

But trudge they did. Skwisgaar opted to conserve his energy, limiting his whining to once every ten minutes or so. Until they reached their destination.

_Closed, due to inclement weather._

Skwisgaar looked like he was going to cry at that news. Were his tear ducts not frozen shut.

“But… But what’s abouts de dogs?”

Toki paused and pondered. There were bigger problems to consider, not the least of which was that the sled ride was supposed to deliver them to their overnight accommodations. Even he didn’t consider 20 kilometers in a blizzard “walking distance.”  

A look at his phone revealed several missed calls from the lady with the dogs, which he chose not to acknowledge in the moment could have saved them the perilous journey. He tapped on one of them and held the frozen brick to his ear, holding a mittened hand up to the other to silence the harsh Icelandic wind and Swedish bitching.

“Hellos? Hi Fru Grímsdóttir! Ja vinur minn og ég komst bara að stöðunni. I know, I couldn’t hear my phone over the… Nei þetta er allt í lagi! The only thing is, við höfum ekki stað til að vera up here so Ég vona að þú gætir mælt með hóteli… Oh! Þú munt? Það er svo sætt! Við munum vera right here. Takk!” (1)

He hung up, peeled the phone off his cheek, looked insanely proud of himself. Skwisgaar, meanwhile, merely looked confused. “What’s de fuck lankwitch was dats?”

Toki bent an eyebrow at him. “Uhh… Icelandic? Cos we ams in Iceland?”

Skwisgaar opened his mouth to challenge his friend’s closet polyglot status, when a savior on a snowmobile appeared over the horizon. As the woman neared, pulling a dogsled behind her, Toki breathed a deadly warning.

“Don'ts you dare try to fuck her.” Skwisgaar’s eyes were halfway through their roll when Toki grabbed the front of his jacket. “Dis family helps me when… when I leaves home. Be good or I kills you.”

The switch from icy stare to giggles and hugs was almost as terrifying as the death threat itself. Skwisgaar didn’t even extend his hand in greeting Ms. Grímsdóttir, merely offered her an awkward little bow and clambered into the sled.

 

* * *

 

The house was a sight to behold, covered in grass as if it was born from the ancient hillside itself. The interior was far more modern but lacked nothing in quaint, homey charm.

“Toki, dear, you boys can share your old room.” Ms. Grímsdóttir smiled and sighed. “It is so good to see you again.”

It was Skwisgaar’s turn to bend an eyebrow. “Maybe its ams de accents, but dids she says we ams to  _shares_  a rooms?”

It was Toki’s turn to roll his eyes. “Amment’s an inn, Skwisgaar.” His face broke out into a wide, idiot grin. “Come on, I shows you where I used to hangs out. You likes it, I promise.”

 

Skwisgaar dreaded heading out into the cold again, but the trip through the snowy side yard was short lived. They picked their way to a shed, also built into the hill. But this one was distinct for the barks and yips that emanated from within.

Toki’s wide, idiot grin spread to Skwisgaar’s face.

“No ways.”

“Ja ways.”

Toki grabbed a shovel, cleared the few inches of snow that had accumulated since last the family attended the shed’s residents, and held the door open for his excited friend. Inside…

_“Puppies.”_

Toki had to do a double-take. Surely such a high pitch could not have come from from the larynx of Skwisgaar Skwigelf. But there he stood, awash in the warm glow of a half dozen heat lamps, squealing matched only by the shrill yips of three litters of mixed spitzes.

Toki laughed as he closed the door behind him. It was as if Skwisgaar had been paralyzed by the cuteness; he just stood there, unable to function.

“Takes off you gloves, sits down on the floor.” Toki did the same, as if a demonstration would help.

And Skwisgaar followed, insides squirming like the eager little balls of fur bouncing at the doors of their pens to come visit. Toki opened one, and the pair were instantly inundated with a flood of fluff and kisses. Toki was certain he’d never heard anything like the giggles and pleas issuing from his bandmate. Never even knew it was possible.

“Oh my gods, hiiiiiiiii precious! Good babies! Yes you too littles goofball!”

Skwisgaar was on his back, letting eight quads of tiny paws crawl all over him. Toki didn’t even mind the relative lack of attention; watching Skwisgaar devolve into a joyful little boy was surprisingly fulfilling.

“Dese ams malamute and wolf mix. Dey’s bred for guardin’s dem sheep.”

Skwisgaar sat up, fixed Toki with a skeptical eye as the pups nibbled every available piece of skin.

“Dey ams… wouleves?”

“Well… half wolf.”

“I ams gets to playings with wouleves??”

Toki may as well have said they were a fleet of unicorns dipped in fairy dust, for the unparalleled glee on Skwisgaar’s face.

He smiled. “Ja. You’s gets to play wif wouleves.”

 

* * *

 

Toki stood in the threshold of the place where he slept as a teenage runaway. More of a cellar than a bedroom, it lacked windows, was chilly and dark and sometimes damp. But there was a bed, a handmade quilt, an oil lamp, a loving family. It was more than Toki ever had.

Skwisgaar invited himself in, plopped down on the bed, toed off his indoor boots.

“Was a good dinners meal. Gives to de chef my regards to de chef. Uh. Since. I can’t… You knows.”

The hearty Icelandic dinner of elk steaks and root vegetables produced a hearty Swedish burp. But it wasn’t rudeness that kept Toki frozen to his spot.

“OK… Well, I guess one of us shoulds, uh, retires to de floors…”

Skwisgaar wiggled out of his pants, pulled off his shirt. Threw Toki’s warm, handmade quilt over his legs.

“I ain’t sleeping on the floors, Tokis.” This much was obvious.

“Oh. Um. Nots a problem, I means, I cans…”

Toki shuffled to the closet, retrieved a thin, worn blanket. Skwisgaar laughed. At him. Toki flushed.

“Amments gonna make you sleeps on de floor of yous own room, come on.”

Toki flushed.

“Gets unders de fuckins covers!”

“Wif you?”

“Nej, wif de Skagswash.”

Toki worried the pathetic blanket between his fingers.

“Um. Ok. But. Just. I sleeps naked?”

Skwisgaar laughed again. At him. “Ja, me toos. Buts I ain'ts tonight, and dat means you shore as fuck ams nots neither.”

Toki sighed. Sat on the edge of the bed to unlace his boots.

“Ja, dinners was goods. Never had elk before.” Toki wasn’t sure how he felt about holding a conversation as he got undressed in front of another man, but then, he hadn’t shared a bed half-naked with another man, either. “Coulds has used a wine pairing. Or two. You wants maybe sneaks upstairs and gets a bottle? I leaves dem some moneys, you know.”

Toki peeked at him over a bare shoulder.

“Uhh… Dis ams a dry town.”

Skwisgaar balked at him.

“Wha– amments evens a town!”

Toki shrugged. Pondered. “I got… somet'ing.”

He reached into his bag, pulled out an unnecessarily huge bottle of Rumple Minze. Skwisgaar stared blankly at him, reached out a hand to cup his chest.

Toki flailed.

“Whats de fuck!”

“Makins sure you amments toirns insto a sororitys school goil.”

Toki fumed.

“We was gonna have hot cocoa on de sled!” He held up the peppermint schnapps, an essential ingredient in the recipe for adult hot chocolate, and Skwisgaar’s expression softened.

“Ja. Okejs.”

Toki wormed his way into bed, careful not to let Skwisgaar catch sight of his boxer briefs. Modesty demanded it. He took a long, painful swig of booze, passed it to his right.

“So…”

“So…”

Sloshing liquor was the only sound for miles. Sloshing liquor and at least one pounding heart.

“So… was you not _planning_ on showing me de puppies or…”

Toki nearly spat his burning mouthful of schnapps across the room. Punched his friend in the shoulder.

“Go de fucks to sleep asshole. We gots an early start tomorrow if we’s gonna make up de distance we lost today…” Toki frowned. Skwisgaar feared he was planning the Iditarod.

“Ams still booze lefts.”

“Ja, but does you really wants to drinks any more of it?”

Skwisgaar considered the half bottle of 100 proof peppermint fury. No, he did not.

Toki extinguished the oil lamp, plunged the pair into near total darkness. He remembered this. Not fondly, but something about having Skwisgaar with him now softened the edges of memory.

 

* * *

 

Two half-naked Nordic guitarists lay awake on opposite sides of a bed built for one. Ten minutes passed in silence that would have been awkward, had either known the other was awake.

Used to taking what he wanted, Skwisgaar reached out a long wing and gently shook his friend by the shoulder.

“Ams awake.”

“Oh. Uh. Me too.”

“Ja, cans sees dat.”

Skwisgaar laughed.  _Now_ it was awkward.

“Uhh…Tokis?”

“Uhh…Skwisgaar?”

“Does you minds if I, uh…”

Toki rolled to face the general direction of Skwisgaar in the dark, livid.

“Nei! You can'ts fuckin jack off in my bed! With me insides of it!”

Skwisgaar blushed in the general direction of Toki, glad for the dark.

“Um.. Nots dat.” He let out a deep breath. “Woulds you be OK if I... Toki can I snuggles with you?”

Toki could see the faint shine of flaxen hair. Stared at it for want of a defined face, on which he would surely find an absolutely delightful abashed expression.

“Okei.”

The Swede scooted over immediately, tucked himself under an arm Toki didn’t know where to put. Reluctantly draped it over Skwisgaar’s shoulders. Found them quite warm. Subconsciously gave them a squeeze.

“Huh.” Skwisgaar was comfortable now, still not quiet.

“What’s?”

“Just. You ams soft.”

“What’s de fuck ams dat supposed to mean?”

“Nej, nej. Just. Uh… fuck. You gots all dis, uh muscles, you know?”

His hand trailed wantonly over Toki’s torso. As if Toki was unfamiliar with the abs and pecs to which he referred.

“It ams just… dey looks hard. But dis ams comfy and soft.”

His wandering hand poked at his fleshy pillow. Which Toki flexed.  

“Hey!”

“Ams not soft.”

“Jeez, ok!”

His hand continued to drift mindlessly about Toki’s body. Toki withheld protest.

“T'anks you for de puppies. Dats ams really sweet.”

Toki chuckled.

“You would has gots to play wif de dogs at de stable. Prollies will tomorrows.” His own hand found its way to those iridescent golden locks. “When I was here, I use ta takes care of dem. Feeds and cleans dem. Helps de mamas give birf.”

Toki sighed, deep in memories he could enjoy.

“I’m glads we ams doin’ dis.”

Skwisgaar lifted his head, looked up at Toki as best he could.

“…cuddlins?”

Toki snorted. “Well, ja, actuallies. But I means dis trip. Beens fun. And you sees, um, where I comes from. And you ain'ts been too means to me.”

Toki snorted again. Again, again, again. His gentle raking through Skwisgaar’s hair had evolved to a firm hold.

The Swede sat bolt upright.

“Toki! Ams you cryin’?”

Toki sniffled. “Nei.” Toki lied.

Maybe it was the booze. It’s what he would say if anyone asked, not that anyone would ever ask, not that he and Toki would exactly  _discuss_  it the next day, or in any of the other beds they would share. Maybe it was a genuine desire to comfort his friend, a real and legitimate sense of empathy that compelled Skwisgaar to pull Toki’s chest to his, hold him close, kiss away the tears marring his lovely cheeks. It was nothing to move to his lips, salt and sweet and mint and alcohol mixing together with a surge of pure adrenaline when Toki responded in kind.

“Ja. You ams soft.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Ok so I translated this thing I wrote to Icelandic and then completely forgot what it was so. Anyway: "Hi Ms. Grímsdóttir! Yes, my friend and I just got to the stable. I know, I couldn't hear my phone over the... No, that's alright! The only thing is, we don't have a place to stay up here so I was hoping you could recommend a hotel ... Oh! You will? That's so sweet! We'll be right here. Thanks!"


End file.
